A pulse rippled outward from the final note—subtle, yet undeniable. A resonance passed through the chamber, then through the sanctum walls and into the bones of the ruined city.Serenya, seated on the side gallery under her Chronicler's cloak, felt the tremor beneath her feet. Her eyes darted upward, where a shimmer flickered in the high arches. Had she imagined it?
"Who is he really?" one council member whispered, uneasy.
"A thread in the pattern," Serethiel replied, still smiling. "One we must follow to its end." He turned then and stepped back, his hand brushing something beneath his robe—a weapon made of celestial alloy and defiled grace. Within minutes, he was gone.
Avesari followed. She couldn't allow this. Not yet.
---
They met in the sunken gardens behind the sanctum—a place untouched by mortal eyes in years. Once a site of offerings, now overgrown and forgotten. Here, the divine clash unfolded.
Serethiel's laughter rang sharp in the thick mist. "Still limping from your fall, little star?"
Avesari drew her blade slowly. Her voice trembled, not from fear, but from pain.
"Still hiding behind masks, snake?"
His eyes gleamed. "Oh, I've worn many. But none so tragic as yours."
Their swords clashed, each blow igniting bursts of celestial light and darkened flame. Avesari's strength faltered with each exchange—her fall had not only scarred her wings, but hollowed her once-boundless light.
"You should rest," Serethiel purred. "Let go. Let someone stronger decide the fate of creation."
"I already did," she hissed. "And I chose them."
Each strike carried weight, and in between—snippets of memory, veiled accusations, broken truths.
"Did you ever wonder why the prophecy speaks of two lights? Or why the Creator remained silent?" he snarled, cutting deep. Blood. Feather. Ether. All fell like rain in the sacred grove. And far above, the dark star pulsed
"Still pretending you're above judgment?" he asked.
"I'm not here for penance," Avesari replied. "I'm here to stop you."
"Stop me?" He laughed. "From what, dear sister? Guiding the lost? Healing a broken world? Or perhaps... correcting your mistake?"
He lunged. Blades of light erupted from his hands—twisted, tainted, corrupted versions of the divine.
Avesari barely dodged, wings faltering. Her movements were sluggish. Power bled from her like smoke from a dying fire. Still, she struck back—a shield of light met his corrupted blade, and the impact shook the air itself.
"Still hiding behind the Creator's will?" Serethiel snarled. "There is no will left!"
Their clash echoed across the forgotten halls of stone and vine, a symphony of fury, regret, and defiance.
Avesari gritted her teeth. "You were one of us."
"I still am!" Serethiel roared. "But unlike you, I evolved. I saw the truth. Creation needs a new composer."
Their blades locked, the sound of burning air singing between them.
---
The music had long since stopped, but Caleb remained seated in the Council chamber, staring at his hands. They trembled slightly, fingertips warm, breath shallow. Something had happened.
Something inside him had... opened.
The Elders whispered among themselves. A few threw wary glances his way. But they were no longer listening to the music. They were listening to what it stirred.
In the shadows beyond the chamber, Serenya moved quickly, weaving through side corridors. She sensed it before she saw it—the pulse of power, the tremor through the Mirrored Weave. Something was wrong. She pushed her way toward the outer cloisters, toward the veil's disturbance.
And then—like a crashing chord breaking silence—she saw it.
Above the western ruin, a storm of light and shadow collided. Energy ripped the sky, warping the air. The sound was distant but terrible, like two choirs screaming in different tongues.
Her heart seized. She didn't know how, but she knew—Avesari was there.
And so was death.
A figure landed hard among shattered stone. Avesari. Her wings flickered, blood staining her side. She was breathing, barely. The weave around her had broken.
Serethiel followed slowly, blade humming with divine rot.
"You're weaker than I hoped," he said, amused. "Pity."
She lifted her chin. "Still enough to wound you."
And indeed, one of his wings was torn, scorched at the edge. He chuckled darkly.
"You always had sharp edges beneath your light," he said. "Too bad you fell before I could enjoy cutting them off."
Avesari tried to rise—and stumbled.
And at that exact moment, across the plaza, Caleb turned the corner.
His eyes widened. He froze.
Avesari looked up—and their gazes met for the first time.
Not in grace. Not in music. Not in a dream.
In blood and broken stone.
And behind him—
"Caleb!" Serenya shouted, rushing forward.
The angel's expression faltered. The moment—meant to be sacred, fated—fractured by the arrival of someone else.
A beat of silence.
Then Serethiel smiled. "Oh, how poetic."
The wind howled.
The stars above trembled.
And the dark star pulsed again.
"Then I shall consider this... a mercy killing."
The floor cracked.
Their powers clashed in a sudden surge of light and shadow.
Serethiel moved like a blade—fast, brutal, without hesitation. Avesari parried, but her motions were slower, her form flickering at the edges. Her wings sputtered smoke with each beat. Yet her eyes burned with purpose.
Steel met soul.
His blade was not forged of metal, but of warped divine essence, bent by pride and spite. Hers—an ephemeral lance of woven light and ash—flickered as if drawn from memory and sorrow.
"You're bleeding still," he taunted, slashing through her barrier. "From wounds self-inflicted. You pity them. You mourn for them."
"They were never yours to judge," Avesari spat.
A blow knocked her into a pillar. It cracked, raining ancient marble.
He drove his blade down—only to be stopped by a desperate blast of ash and light. Avesari rolled free, wings shuddering, her voice rising like a chant.
From above, faint bells began to ring.
The glyph on the floor ignited, reacting to Caleb's music still echoing through the chamber's very stone.
Serethiel flinched.
"That song," he murmured, eyes narrowing. "Who taught him that?"
"No one," Avesari said, struggling to rise. "He remembered it."
Serethiel hesitated for half a heartbeat.
And in that pause, she struck.
Light burst from her wounded form like a dying star flaring one last time. Her lance pierced through his shoulder, searing the corrupted sigils. He screamed, and the sound shook the chamber's foundations.
But her victory was not complete.
Serethiel retaliated with a surge of energy that split the floor in two. Caleb, thrown back by the concussive force, slammed into a column. His violin snapped.
Outside, the sky raged. The dark star above pulsed, and the walls of the Council tower shimmered with unstable glyphwork.
Avesari dropped to one knee, blood dripping from her mouth. "This ends here."
Serethiel coughed, the smirk returning to his cracked lips. "Oh, Avesari... this is only the prelude."
Then his body unraveled—flashes of corrupted light scattering like burnt feathers. Gone, but not dead. Banished. For now.
Avesari collapsed.